


The Wait

by prideinperfection



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Evil Mary, M/M, bad mary, i do not like mary, not at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 19:41:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1316941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prideinperfection/pseuds/prideinperfection
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is kidnapped by Mary and John goes out of his mind with worry, not knowing where he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wait

“Sherlock Holmes.”  
Came the familiar voice, tinted with exasperation. Sherlock’s back ached against the hard wood of the chair he was bound to, and he wondered, dazed, how long he had been there unconscious. Almost immediately, his brain began trying to place where he was. He looked around, taking in what small range of vision his predicament allowed. On his left, there was a white painted door with a worn brass knob. The wall he was facing was bare, save for the dark window framed with faded yellow curtains and an empty wooden desk in the right corner. A radiator ran along the edge of the floor, dusty and silent. The reflection of a single bare bulb in the window illuminated the smiling face of Mary Mortsan standing behind him. Not Watson. Sherlock would never again make the mistake of deeming her worthy of John Watson’s name. To his right, there was another door slightly askew. A bathroom, he quickly deduced. His shoe scuffed against the dirty wooden floor as he craned his long neck, trying to see what was just out of view. Her voice almost startled him.  
“You know I never wanted this to happen? I wanted you and John to be happy. You’re good people, couldn’t you have just done what I said and stayed away?”  
She sighed.  
“Oh come on Mary, I couldn’t let you be the one that got away. Not after what John went through over you.”  
Sherlock held back no contempt as he practically spat the words at her. He could hear the slide of metal against wood as she casually lifted her gun off the nightstand. The dim lighting of the motel room was enough for Sherlock to see Mary’s reflection in the window he was facing.  
“Yes, I’m sure he was devastated, but I did warn him to stay away.”  
He could practically hear her eye-roll. There was a pause, and Sherlock began testing the ropes around his wrists while she was looking the other way.  
”You know it was no miscarriage, don’t you? Of course you know, you’re Sherlock Holmes. But why haven’t you told John, then?”  
She stepped into view, stopping in front of Sherlock.

 

John pressed his shaking finger to the green button on his cell phone once more, holding his breath as it began to ring. It had been 6 hours since Sherlock had said he was going to the station, but Lestrade had informed him that Sherlock had never arrived. Where the hell was his flat mate? John waited. The skull on the mantle stared back at him, and the dusty wood smell of the sitting room that was usually so calming was of no help to his nerves. He exhaled deeply and sat down on the edge of his chair, cursing as Sherlock’s voicemail played yet again.  
”Hello, this is Sherlock-“  
John hung up and stood and exhaled again, pacing the entrance to the kitchen nervously. He ran his hand across his stubble and leaned against the counter, wondering where Sherlock could be, when his phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket, almost dropping it with excitement, and answered.  
“Hello?”  
”Yes, John?”  
Damn it. Lestrade. John started pacing again.  
“Have you heard anything from him?”  
John asked with a little less enthusiasm. Lestrade paused.  
“Well, no, but I know why we haven’t.”  
John stopped pacing.  
“It’s Mary.”

 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes.  
“I’m sure you didn’t kidnap me to ask me about John, Mary. History would indicate you don’t care much for him.”  
Mary huffed a small laugh.  
“No, I do not. I intend to make a point.”  
“And what might that be, pray tell?”  
Sherlock glared coolly at her.  
“I want you to back off, Sherlock. Back off, or next time it’ll be John in this chair, and I know you don’t want that.”  
She started at him for a moment, and walked behind his chair again.  
“I don’t think I’ll be quite this friendly, either. No love lost between us, I’m afraid. At least not on my end.”  
Tendrils of rage curled in Sherlock’s chest, but he gave no outward sign of it.  
She spoke again.  
“You know, I only married him to get close to you, Sherlock.”  
A flicker of surprise showed across his face before he cleared it of emotion once more.  
“I thought you would have realized that the moment you found out who I was. I never cared one bit for that man, but he was so desperate for companionship when he thought you were dead. Bit sad, really. Maybe he wouldn’t have been so lonely if you had told him how you really felt.”  
Sherlock wasn’t listening to her. That was the one deduction he refused to let himself make. He closed his eyes and began thinking of an escape plan. His ropes were secure; Mary was too smart to make such a juvenile mistake. He had heard his phone ring earlier from table behind him, so there was no hope of contacting John or Lestrade. Think, Sherlock. Think.  
He opened his eyes, immediately fixating on the radiator in front of him. 

 

John’s phone clattered on the floor. A tide of panic rose inside him at the sound of her name.  
”Oh God, Sherlock what have you done.”  
John rushed to the door, barely slowing to grab his coat, and hailed the first taxi he saw. 

10 long minutes later, the door to the taxi slammed shut and the driver grumbled as he took the money and apology that had been hastily shoved through the window. John burst through the doors of the station just as Lestrade stepped round the corner into view.  
“Where are they?”  
John almost shouted.  
Lestrade’s worried frown deepened as he replied.  
“I haven’t the faintest, John. We’re trying. She’s rather good at what she does, you know.”  
John let out a frustrated groan and ran his fingers through his short hair. He hardly noticed when a young man tapped Lestrade on the shoulder.  
“Sir, there’s a fire at-”  
Lestrade broke in.  
“Not my department, talk to somebody else. Bit busy here.”  
“Sir, the chief is gone and I need you to authorize-”  
Lestrade interrupted again.  
“Yes yes, all right. Go”  
“Thank you, sir.”  
Lestrade turned back to John and he felt a twinge of sympathy for the man who was clearly devastated.  
“We’re doing what we can, John. I have every man available out looking, there’s nothing to do but wait. I’d be out there too, but I’m in a bit of trouble over the chocolate factory thing still.”  
John nodded, clearly not relaxing.

 

Mary turned at the sound of Sherlock scraping his shoe across the floor again. She didn’t want to take any chances with him, and reached for another length of rope.  
“Now Sherlock, don’t make this difficult. You are not getting away until I’m good and ready to let you.”  
She felt a surge of anger as he smirked at her. She set the length of rope on the stand again and instead drew her hand back. She felt minutely satisfied as a sharp crack sounded throughout the room. Almost instantly, a red mark spread in contrast across Sherlock’s pale face. It was her turn to smirk as Sherlock let out a small gasp of pain and a drop of blood rolled from his nose over his lips. She reached for the rope again, and the only sounds in the room were the radiator rattling to life and the rustle of fabric as she forced his ankle against the leg of the chair and bound it there. She moved to the other leg and repeated the process.  
“There. Can’t have you trying anything, now can I? Not until I’ve made my point. If you so much as think my name again, you will not be happy with the outcome. John Watson will suffer. I will find him and I will make him wish he had never met you, you pathetic excuse for a friend.”  
Sherlock smiled and looked her dead in the eye. His plan was working. 

 

John sat in Lestrade’s office, a mug of tea untouched before him. It had been seven hours now, and not a word from Sherlock. He knew he should be tired, but there was no room in his head to be tired when his best friend was in the hands of his worst nightmare. Lestrade had been on and off the phone for the last hour, always talking in tense hushed tones, when he suddenly sat up.  
“He’s what?”  
John was roused from his state of silent worry, and he copied Lestrade in straightening up in his seat.  
“Alright, we’ll be right there. And you keep a fucking eye on her, okay? I do not want her getting away again, the amount of trouble I’d be in… Yes, we’re on our way.”  
Lestrade slammed the phone back onto the hangar and glanced at John while he stood.  
“They’ve got him, let’s go.”  
John leapt up and breathed a sigh of relief as he rushed out the door after Lestrade.  
“Where on earth is he?”  
Asked John, stepping off the curb and opening the passenger side door of Lestrade’s car.  
“Motel, rather near your flat actually. There was a fire, and they found him and Mary trapped on the top floor.”  
Johns concern jumped again, and his chest tightened at the thought of what state they might find Sherlock in.

 

At the motel, there was quite the commotion. There were fire trucks wailing, firemen rushing in and out of the building, and concerned passerby crowding around as the ambulances arrived. The fire seemed relatively contained, and only one window still had smoke curling out in a lazy black stream. The ambulance finally parked, and three EMTs jumped to the ground and ran towards the mostly evacuated motel. John and Lestrade pulled up just then, and immediately Lestrade began inquiring about the situation. John ignored him completely and ran straight for the motel after the EMTs. He reached the police tape, and arms shot out to block his attempts to cross it.  
“No, please, he’s my friend, you don’t understand, please…”  
John trailed off as he realized that he would not be allowed to pass. He had no choice but to wait. His heart pounded as a stretcher was brought out, and he strained to see a hint of curly black hair, or the flutter of a blue scarf, but the men transporting it to the ambulance surrounded the stretcher and John couldn’t catch a glimpse. He was so focused on the unidentified person being carried away that he didn’t notice the familiar long stride of his flat mate walking determinedly away from the crowd until a fireman grabbed Sherlock’s arm and sat him on the back of a second ambulance. John cried out as soon as he saw his best friend, and forced his way under the tape. John barely noticed the fireman drape a bright orange blanket across Sherlock’s shoulders until he was standing in front of him. Sherlock looked up in surprise.  
“John-”  
“Sherlock! My God, are you alright?”  
John threw his arms around him, and Sherlock’s happy laughter rumbled against him as he returned the hug. The smoky musk of Sherlock’s coat filled his nose, and John buried his face in the collar.  
“I’m fine. Are you?”  
“Oh God, Sherlock, I thought she had finally gotten you, I was so worried-”  
John broke the hug and he took Sherlock’s face in his hands, looking right into his eyes.  
“Are you sure you’re okay?”  
Sherlock smiled and brought his hand to John’s face.  
“I’m okay John, really, there’s no need to worry.”  
John sighed in relief, finally relaxing as he leaned forward and rested his forehead against Sherlock’s. He felt a prick in his eyes, and he closed them to stop the tears from falling. Sherlock was there. Sherlock was okay. Sherlock was trembling. John opened his eyes again, and felt Sherlock’s shaky breath on his lips just moments before they met. John froze. He was taken completely off guard by the kiss, and Sherlock broke it as soon as he started it. Their eyes met, and John saw nothing but worry and fear in his beautiful blue eyes.  
“John, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”  
John’s soldier heart softened. Sherlock had kissed him. Sherlock Holmes, the consulting detective from 221b Baker Street, had kissed him. Without thinking, John pressed his lips to Sherlock’s again, silencing his frantic apologies. This time, Sherlock froze in surprise. John slid his hand to his shoulder, and at that touch Sherlock’s mouth softened against his own. Sherlock was kissing him back, and John had never kissed someone so happily before. 

 

“So how did you set the fire, again?”  
John asked, still confused as they sat side by side in the back of a taxi that Sherlock had hailed shortly after Lestrade had shooed them, blushing, off of the scene.  
“I kicked a tissue into the radiator and waited.”  
The familiar twinkle lit his eyes as he recounted his escape.  
“I knew we were high in the building, I could see no lights at eye level out the window, so it posed minimal threats to the others in the motel, and I knew that help would come quickly as the fire alarm was located directly above the source of the flame. I must say, watching fire engulf the room while I was tied to a chair in the middle of it is not an experience I would like to repeat. Bit hot in there.”  
John shook his head.  
“You bloody idiot, Sherlock. You could have died. What would I have done then? You saw what happened last time you died, it’s what got us into this mess in the first place.”  
Sherlock deliberated.  
“Hmm. Yes, I suppose that would have been a poor choice. You seem to lose all sense of judgment when I’m not around.”  
He laughed when John swatted his arm.  
“Well I guess you’d better not leave then.”  
John said quietly, looking down at his lap and fighting the blush he felt burning his cheeks. He felt Sherlock’s eyes on him.  
“I wasn’t planning on it, you’re far too enjoyable to be around, and I don’t make friends easily.”  
John smiled and looked up, a warmth in his chest that he hadn’t felt in a long time, and brought his lips to Sherlock’s again.


End file.
